JXHQ: Damage
by thechokesonyou
Summary: (Ayer-verse.) Dr. Harleen Quinzel's first session with the Joker. Drabble-ish. May continue later in the future, but I don't want to write too much with Leto's Joker before I know him better. Enjoy!


The first thing she noticed was the tattoo on his forehead. _Damaged,_ it read in pretty cursive script right below his hairline, the font much too elegant for the content it broadcasted. She found it slightly ironic. Of course he was damaged, or else he wouldn't be here. Of course he was damaged, you have to be to kill hundreds of people, cause the deaths of dozens more and laugh in the wreckage. Of course he was. Maybe that was the point, though. That silly irony, the kind that mocks humanity, the kind that says, _Oh, little pre-pubescent drama queens, you're not messed up at all. You don't know what_ messed up _even means._ The kind that mocks those who've made mental issues a trend. So he broadcasts it. Telling the world, no… _This…_ This is genuine damage.

She no longer disliked that tattoo, and instead she almost admired him for making such a statement.

Or maybe her training was just kicking in and she was reading too far into this. Maybe he just liked the way it looked. Maybe he didn't care at all about the message it was sending. The second thing that really made an impression on her was the smile, and she supposed that should've been the first thing, saying that smiles were his MO. After all, that was his whole shtick, laughing and smiling and having a ball while the world crumbled around him. But no, she noticed that second and maybe it was because his smile wasn't as wide as it usually was, he wasn't grinning as big to the point where you could see those every-so-often silver teeth. It was small, a gentle smirk — _gentle!_ she thought, _ha!_ — as he assessed the office, taking in all the little details and storing them away in his never-ending memory. She knew from her studies on him that his IQ was through the roof, one of the most impressive numbers she'd ever seen in that regard and she found it funny that it didn't surprise her one bit. Of course he was a genius. Most psychopaths are. It's in the job description.

He didn't meet eyes with her until he'd finished his study of the office and even then he waited another moment before slowly looking up at her. When eye contact finally began, that little smirk of his grew into a pleased smile. Not a sarcastic one. A genuine (seeming) grin, that was friendly and inviting and her stomach grew heavy with that fact. Inviting? She had not expected that. She knew that his experiences with each doctor he worked with were all completely different. One doctor said that in the two months they met, he never spoke a single word. Another said that everything he said was disgusting and cruel to the point where the doctor quit his job at Arkham Asylum and retired. He was now living in Miami with his wife and hadn't returned to Gotham since. Another doctor said that he pulled the sympathy route, spinning wild stories about his childhood, about his parents, his distant father abusing him while his alcoholic mother sipped her wine and watched from the doorframe. In the end, none of the doctors could be near him anymore. She had prepared herself for all of these, not wanting to be surprised. But this... This caught her off guard, and that's exactly what he wanted.

Damn, he was smart.

 _You're smart, too, Harleen. How else would you have landed this case?_

 _The same way everyone else thinks you did. Whoring yourself out._

 _But that's not true._

 _That's not what they think._

He raised an eyebrow, not taunting her, but curious as to why she was being so silent. Neither of them spoke. They wanted to see who would talk first. Was it courage that would have someone make the first move? Or was it weakness? The doctor, patient as ever laced her fingers together in her lap and stared into those bright green irises as though she could find all the answers she was looking for inside their pretty emerald glow.

It was a well known saying that eyes are the window to the soul. For some that may be true, but Harley had a feeling that this particular set of eyes would work better as a door than a window. He was a master manipulator, able to draw pity in a second and fear even quicker. She was sure he could even be seductive if he really wanted to. It wasn't as though he was bad looking.

On the contrary, actually.

It was hard to imagine how he looked before the accident at Ace Chemicals all those years ago but once you got past all the tattoos, the busted teeth, the ghoul-ish skin and that wicked red smile, she could see what was underneath. Sharp cheekbones, a solid frame, full lips… The cherry red wasn't even that frightening, in fact it looked so natural on him that it was almost a _nice_ feature and she self-consciously licked her own lips which were coated with thick red lipstick.

"I can feel the therapy helping already," He finally said and Harley jumped in surprise. His voice was… Not what she'd expected. It wasn't a deep vicious growl, or the wild ramblings of most of the crazies here. In fact, it was almost hypnotic. He was speaking out loud, but it had the husky tone of a whisper to it, as if he was sharing a secret with her that he didn't want anyone else to hear.

"I wanted to give you a few minutes to get used to your new space," Harley said.

His smile grew into a full-on grin, his cheeks stretching up towards his ears. "I'm not a _dog,_ sweetheart."

Her eyes popped open wide in surprise, not at his sarcasm but at the nickname. Sure, he was using it facetiously, but on a first session, she hadn't expected it. She was beginning to think that she couldn't have ever prepared enough for her meeting with this man. She blinked to collect herself and then said, "I wasn't implying that, Mr. Joker, I know you aren't. You're a person, just like me, just like everyone here. I just wanted to —"

"Harleen, is it? _Harleen…_ I am _nothing…_ Like _you._ " The Joker leaned forward slowly, resting his elbows on his knees and clasping those boney hands together, his lips a tight line. His eyes boring into hers.

"You don't even know me, Mr. Joker."

He laughed. Loudly. She jumped at the sound. It was so much more frightening in person than on TV. A bark, a loud staccato that made her hair stand on end. " _Aha… Heh._ I don't need to know you to know that you and I are different." That smile creeped up his cheeks again.

She exhaled slowly and said, "We may have more in common than you think."

"Heh, heh. Maybe, maybe. Maybe you'll just surprise me, Doctor Harleen. Maybe you and I are two peas in a _pod._ " Harley swallowed thickly, her throat closing up with anxiety. That wasn't what she'd meant, not at all. The thought of her being like him, of being like him in any way at all terrified her to no end. _He's just trying to get inside your head. Stop being so gullible._

 _It's kind of hard not to be when he's looking at you like that._

"So. If I'm such a relatable guy, tell me… What do you think you know about me?"

She cleared her throat. "Well, I know you first appeared as the Joker eleven years ago after falling into a vat of chemicals at the Ace production plant.I know that —"

"Ah, ah, ah… Not the facts. Tell me your thoughts… I already know my statistics, doll, those aren't going to get us anywhere." Again, that predatory smile that set her teeth on edge.

Harley tried again, taking a deep breath. Not the facts? She could work with that. She'd studied him to no end, came up with numerous theories on the man. But was she comfortable enough yet to _tell_ him these things? These hypotheses' on his psyche were her edge, all she had to work with. So she wouldn't tell him anything too important. Enough to satiate his curiosity, and enough to build trust. But not enough to take all the cards from her sleeve. "You've never been clearly diagnosed. You fit the criteria of dozens of different disorders but not one completely and each one contradicts itself. You reinvent yourself every day. One day you'll be the cruel sadist, the man who gets his kicks by hurting others. The next day you're just a clown… All you want is to laugh. To smile. To make the world laugh with you. No one can ever pin down what exactly it is that goes on inside your head because there isn't anything to pin down. It changes, rapidly. You don't even control it."

His face hadn't changed as she'd spoken, his eyes glued onto hers the entire time. Green and blue. Earth and sky. Locked onto one another desperately searching for answers. "Hmm… Well this is interesting."

"What's interesting?"

Those ruby lips curled into a new smile, one he hadn't shown her yet. Playful, thoughtful, a little mischievous. "I think I may just have to keep you around… _Harley._ "


End file.
